


I'm Free

by LilyK



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Domestic, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-06
Updated: 2018-06-06
Packaged: 2019-05-18 19:08:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14858561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilyK/pseuds/LilyK
Summary: Jim drives himself crazy with thoughts of Blair.





	I'm Free

I wanna know when you're gonna come  
I wanna jump when you wanna jump  
I wanna touch where it makes you mine  
I wanna push till I get it right

Cause I'm free  
Free to do the dirty things you like  
I'm free  
Free enough to do what's on my mind  
When you go down and freak on me  
That's when I'm free  
\--enrique iglesias--

\----------------------------------

Do you know what you do to me? You sit there, in my truck, eighteen inches away, and look absolutely fucking adorable. Your hair is messy from the wind that whips in from the window, and you absentmindedly brush it out of your eyes in an irritated gesture. I love that hair. It has a life of its own, and just the thought of me running my fingers through it makes me hard. The thought of you letting it brush against certain places of my body makes me even harder. Then you turn those blue eyes my way, and I'm lost. I'm so damned overwhelmed, it isn't even funny. It's a wonder I can drive, let alone speak... 

"Jim? Man, are you zoning or what?" Blair stares at me so intently that I think he can see straight through to my soul. To hide my mini-zone, I do my usual Ellison shit: I grouse. 

"Geez, Chief. Give me a break. We were on stake-out for twelve hours. Then you kept me awake with your God-awful snoring for ten more hours. I could hear you all the way up on the second floor! After that, you insisted on playing that stupid jungle music while you scrubbed the bathroom. With that orange cleaning crap that really bugs me, by the way. And you wonder why I'm zoning?" 

Blair rolls his eyes in exasperation. "First off, I was on stake-out with you, so I didn't sleep for those twelve hours either. Secondly, I don't snore. You're the one who snores, and you kept waking yourself up with your symphony of sound, so don't go blaming me. And lastly, that orange stuff is organic, biodegradable and completely non-toxic. If you don't like the smell, why didn't you just tell me instead of pitching a hissy fit?" 

I glare (another Ellison trick) and say, "I do not pitch hissy fits, Sandburg. I am an officer of the law." 

Blair barks out a derisive laugh. "Yeah, right. Forgive me," he says mockingly and he actually bows toward me from his seat, "Oh, Great and Powerful El. You are above such human foibles." 

I raise an eyebrow and growl, "What the hell are you talking about?" 

Blair crosses his arms and sighs. It sounds like he's giving up. I'm pleased, even if he's giving up because he thinks I don't have a clue what's going on and there isn't any way for him to clue me in anyway. "Let's skip it, okay, Jim?" 

"Works for me," I say happily. "Hungry?" 

Thankfully, you're distracted. Let me rephrase that. Thankfully, you allow me to distract you. Personally, I think you know what I'm doing, but instead of calling me on it, you join the chatter about where to eat, and what sounds good, and cholesterol and fat cells, and you practically bounce in your seat. I am so in love with you, it's not funny, but that's not something you'll ever hear from these lips. No, siree, Bob. My mama didn't raise no fool. I barely contain the irritated snort that almost bursts loose when I think about my own idiocy. I am a fool, that's for sure, but I'll never tell you that. Nope. Never. Because once I took that first step, once I put a single toe on that path, there'd be no stopping me until you were mine. And I mean, Mine, with a capital M. As in....

"I'll have a taco salad with extra salsa," Blair says, breaking my second mini-zone in ten minutes. I nod, figuring I'll order my usual: two beef and bean burritos with sour cream and guacamole. 

"Let's go home and eat," I offer, pleased when Blair readily agrees. 

"Sounds good. There's a six-pack in the fridge." 

Wordlessly, I nod and park in front of our favorite Mexican take-out joint, and after giving Blair a pleasant smile, I go in to get the food. Blair waits in the truck, making notes about a case on a yellow pad. He grins at me when I return with our dinner in hand. 

"That was quick," Blair says, sniffing the air when I had him the white plastic bag. 

"We hit it between the lunch and dinner rush." I crank the engine and pull out into traffic, heading toward home. "I bought dessert. The cook had just made flan." 

"Oh, yum. I haven't had flan in ages. You're too good to me, Jim." 

I nod at Blair's appreciative comment. "Smells good. Creamy and sweet." 

Creamy and sweet, that's what you are, Chief. I almost groan at the mushy thought when you glance at me with a grin that is just plain scrumptious. That sounds so -- stupid, I know, but I can't help it. These are my thoughts and I can be as stupid, or as silly, or as mushy as I like. Besides, I love when you look at me. It's so fucking -- hot. You make me hot. Everything about you makes me want you, and the mere fact that you're here with me makes me want you even more. God, I must have it bad. What is "it" exactly?" Is it the real thing? Am I really in love? I know I'm in -- lust. I want your body, and I'm not afraid to admit that part -- to myself, anyway. I want to kiss you and taste you and... Well, let's just say that once I got through with you, you wouldn't be walking or talking for at least twenty-four hours. Because you'd be so damned satisfied and so -- well-fucked, that you wouldn't be able to function for at least a day, maybe longer. I'd make sure of that, buddy boy. Which is why... 

"The game is on Channel 12, Jim," Blair informs me when I realize I've been sitting in front of the television, beer in hand, not moving for more than a few minutes. 

"Oh, yeah, right." I punch the appropriate buttons and after tuning in the game, I toss the remote onto the coffee table. "The game is on," I needlessly tell my partner. 

"Yes, Jim," he says with infinite patience, "I know. Thanks." He smiles at me before taking another slug of his beer. 

I shrug, taking a pull on mine, lean back and sprawl out in James-Dean-cool, macho, unconcerned abandon. 

Do you have to sit so close? I mean, the sofa has three cushions. One side for me. One side for you and one in the middle is supposed to be left vacant. It's the safe zone, that middle cushion. But you just plop yourself right down on the middle cushion. So damned close that your thigh touches mine. Your knee brushes my leg. Your hand touches my arm. Why in the hell don't you realize, that two roommates, two best buds, two he-man, het guys do not sit this close? It's like when we go to the movies. It happens every time! Why don't you just look around, for God's sake? It's an unwritten guys' law! When two guys who aren't gay go to the movies together, they always, always leave an empty seat between them. You'd think you never learned this stuff in junior high! All guys know that! Except for you, of course, Chief. Nooo. You sit right next to me, hogging the armrest, bumping your elbow into mine every five fucking minutes. Even when I slouch clear to the other side of my seat, do you get the hint? Not my partner, Mr. Clueless. You just lean closer and I have to breathe your smell. I have to listen to the sound of your breathing. I have to feel your hair brush my shoulder when you lean over to whisper in my ear...

"Jim, what the heck is wrong with you this evening? You've never zoned three times in three hours! Not even when you first came on line! You'd better spill it." Blair crosses his arms and glares at me, his eyes flashing fire. 

I gulp. "Really, I'm just -- tired. Yeah, tired. Sorry. It's been a long week." 

Blair's eyes narrow and he purses his lips before he says, "Yeah, right. Like I believe that shit." 

"Sorry," I mutter, polishing off my beer. The warm liquid settles badly on my tongue. How did it get warm so fast? When I glance up at the television screen, I notice that it's the third quarter. Shit. The last thing I remember was the end of the first. Taking the offensive (another Ellison trait, I might mention), I rise and saunter to the kitchen. I'm good at sauntering, let me tell you. I rinse my bottle and toss it into the recycle bin before I stretch my arms over my head and fake a wide yawn. 

"Night, Sandburg." I don't glance at Blair when I disappear into the bathroom, but I know he's turned those laser beams that he calls eyeballs on me. Damn, I'd better be careful before I really fuck up. I successfully brush my teeth, use the toilet, wash my face and hands, and strip off my shirt and slacks to toss into the hamper before I (again) casually saunter in boxers and tank through the loft and to the bottom of the stairs. I stop, and being a polite kind of guy, I finally glance at my partner, who has remained silent while he studies me from his place on the sofa. I feel like a damned bug under a microscope, but I don't say anything about it. I'm all coolness and calmness when I say, "Sleep well, Chief." Then I go to bed. 

\------------------------------------------

You're taking a shower and it's the most erotic thing that happens in my life these days. I live for those showers. It's a Sentinel sensory banquet. I turn everything up full tilt, all the way to ten, and concentrate everything I have on you. I sit on my bed, naked, fully erect. One hand is wrapped around my dick while the other pinches my nipples, alternating from right to left, until the nubs are on fire. You're humming. Your hands are sliding over your body as you rub the vanilla-scented shower gel over your hairy chest. I can hear the palm of your hand when it runs down your chest and I can smell what happens when your fingers tickle a path through your pubic hair. Did you know that your body hair has different -- sounds? Your chest hair is softer, less -- noisy. Your pubic hair sounds kind of rough, a bit raspy. And let's not even talk about when you wash your hair... I hear the water hitting your head. I hear and smell you squirt shampoo into your hand. I'm panting by the time your hands, both of them, mind you, are massaging your scalp. My eyes supply the images. Your head is thrown back when you rinse off under the hot spray. Your eyes are closed. Soap runs down your back and through your crack in creamy white ribbons. It puddles around your feet until the clean water washes it away. Your hand, soapy and slick, finds your cock, and you stroke. Your breathing comes a little quicker. Your hand moves a little quicker. Your heart beats a little quicker. And then you come, whispering, "Jim!" I come also...

\-------------------------------

"The old guy has still got it," I mutter, climbing the stairs toward home. "I wiped the floor with those young punks." I snicker happily, and roll my shoulders. A nice hot shower and a bite to eat would be wonderful, just what the doctor ordered. I enter the loft, my body still tingling from the exercise. The gym had been buzzing with activity, and I had been finagled into a quick game of basketball. The last hour spent playing made me feel really good. 

"Chief?" I question, my nose wrinkling in pleasure. "What smells so good?" 

Blair glances over his shoulder at me and rolls his eyes. "Not you, apparently," he quips, giving a loud sniff. "What? They tossed you out on your ass before you could shower?"

I shrug. "Nah. Problem with the water at the gym." After dropping my bag inside the door, I saunter (again with the sauntering!) over to where Blair is busily fixing something that smells absolutely marvelous. Standing behind my partner, I glance over at the dining table and see- Wow. What the hell is this? A tablecloth? China? Silverware? Crystal -- and flowers? 

"Chief?" I ask softly, waving a hand toward the table. 

Blair actually blushes and shrugs. "It's a special occasion..." 

Do you know how fucking gorgeous you look tonight? You're wearing those jeans. Yes, those ones. Washed until they're so damned soft that they cling to your body. I look down, admiring the view. Your ass, round and firm, fills out the back of the pants in a way that makes me shuffle my feet and want to grab my cock to pinch it for jumping around. Oh, shit. Your feet are bare. Shit. Shit. Shit. Now my dick does jump, and there's no stopping it. Your toes are -- suckable. Shit. Then you turn and I can't help but look down. No way there are boxers under that material. I see that bulge under the thin denim. It makes a rather large package, I notice, curious at just how big that baby is when fully erect. Your voice cuts through my mind and I glance up, seeing that your mouth is moving. You're speaking to me, but I don't hear a word. I intently watch your face. Your skin is smooth where you've just shaved. I can see a hair or two that you missed, and my tongue wants to touch each one. Your eyes are bright blue and filled with anticipation. I can see a hint of trepidation there also. Why is that? And your hair... Oh my God. It's wonderful. All staticky and floaty. Are those real words? I can't help myself. I see my hand move outward. It skims over your head, not touching, just hovering while the electricity in the air makes individual hairs stick to my palm. I focus on the strands... 

"Jim!" 

I feel Blair shake my shoulders, and I blink stupidly. "What?" 

"Again, Jim? Again with the zoning? What is wrong with you?" Blair's voice brings me back to full attention. He's scared. He's upset. He's pissed. 

"I'm fine. Smells great. Let me catch a quick shower and then we'll eat." I don't give him time to respond. I just run away and hide in the shower until this hard-on fades. I consider myself very brave for not touching it even though I want to stroke myself with the same hand that still has residual Blair hair cells on it. Snorting at my ridiculousness, I dry off, zip through the loft in my towel (not looking at Blair. Score one for me), run up the stairs, and jump into the baggiest sweats I can find. Just in case... Well, who knows? Don't want to embarrass myself again. 

Dinner is wonderful. Prime rib. Roasted potatoes. Fresh, lightly steamed asparagus. Crusty bread, with real butter, I might add. A great wine. Candlelight. Soft music. Fuck. You'd think I was being -- seduced. But there is no way... I can't do this. I can't -- give myself to Blair. I can't -- take Blair. Why? Because of Naomi. That's right, Naomi. No, not that! I'm not in love with Naomi! I didn't sleep with Naomi. I've never even touched Naomi, other than a few hugs. It's because of our last heart-to-heart. When I reveal what she said, all will become crystal clear. Unfortunately...

"Seconds, Jim?" Blair asks invitingly. I swear to God he's batting his eyelashes and shaking his backside. I know he is. What the fuck? I am so fucked...

"Yes, please. This is the best meal I've ever eaten," I add, giving Blair the warmest smile I can muster. I let everything show in my face. Well, almost everything. Blair beams. He's glowing. He's incandescent. What am I doing? I'm eating dinner, that's what I'm doing. Then I'm going to bed. Alone. To sleep. Fuck. 

"Glad you liked the wine. It's a Washington vintage I've been wanting to try," Blair tells me as he pours us each another glass. 

I smile again, and sip the wonderful nectar. It dances on my tongue, making my taste buds do the macarena. Well, maybe the tango. I dive into my plate again, savoring the delectable meal. I draw out eating the food until Blair starts to fidget. He's been done for quite a while, but he tries to keep that Sandburg enthusiasm in check while I indulge in my senses for a bit. When I'm finally finishing the last bite, he whips the plate out from in front of me... 

Even when you do every day chores, Chief, like now, washing the dishes. You have this -- aura. It's so special and kind of glows around you, lighting your entire body in a halo of silvery-blue light. Do you know how it draws me in? All I want to do is touch you, but I control myself and watch you. Watching you is one of the highlights of my life (up there with those showers), since touching you is limited to manly arm slugs, head noogies and the occasional cheek pats. Now those are priceless. You don't know how much control it takes to have your DNA on the ends of my fingers and not suck those babies into my own mouth and taste. Or to touch myself with those Blair-scented fingers and let my mind wander to all those special places...

"So can we talk?" Blair asks, his hand warm on my arm. 

I'm feeling well-fed and magnanimous so I say, "Yeah, let's," while I nod and rise from the table. "I wish you would have let me help with the clean-up, Chief. And you still need to tell me what's the special occasion -- other than our four year anniversary, that is." Blair's mouth drops open and he looks so damned surprised. I grin and shrug. "You didn't think I'd remember, did you?" I tug Blair over to the sofa and letting myself an allowable touch, I put both hands on his shoulders and gently push down until he's sitting. His eyes are still wide and shocked, so I sit close (no empty cushion between us) and add, "Four years ago today you moved in here. It's been great. You've been a good friend. You've pulled me through some pretty weird shit (didn't I say that once before, a lifetime ago...?). Thanks." 

Slowly, Blair nods. I wait patiently until he finally clears his throat. "Jim, man. I'm blown away. I didn't think you -- paid attention." 

I give Blair a quick smile. "I always pay attention, Blair." 

His eyebrow raises at the use of his first name, something I keep for very special occasions -- or when I'm at the edge of death -- and he smiles. "It's been special for me too. I lo- like it here with you." 

"Good. It's your home, and I've brought you some evidence of that." 

"Evidence?" Blair asks with a confused grin. 

"Yeah. Over by the basket, on the table next to the door. That envelope marked "Westbrook Title Company"? Would you get that for me, Chief?" 

Blair nods, rising. "Sure, Jim." He walks away from me, giving me the chance to ogle his backside. I am such a slut. I sigh in disappointment at the idea that I'll never have that fine ass when he snags the envelope and returns, plopping beside me and holding it out. 

With a warm smile, I encourage, "Open it." 

Smiling, Blair rips into the paper and withdraws the contents. A single sheet of legal-size paper is stapled to a blue backing. He reads the paper, his eyes growing wider every second before he slowly rises and the paper falls from his hands to land on the coffee table. 

"Jim?" he whispers. "Why?" 

"Because." 

"Because?" Blair echoes. 

I do my usual nonchalant Ellison shrug. "Home is where the heart is, Chief." 

"Jim, man, this is too important. I mean, I don't deserve-" 

I glance into his eyes and smile. "You're important -- to me." 

"Thank you." 

"Don't thank me too quickly. Now that you're a homeowner, you owe me for half of the taxes for this year." 

"Jim!" Blair laughs, and he moves so quickly, I don't have a chance to escape. He's in my lap, his arms around my neck, hugging me tightly, his lips raining down on the top of my head. 

I laugh nervously into his chest. "Chief?" I mumble against the soft material. 

"I love you, man." 

"Ditto, Sandburg." 

He giggles for a second before he falls very still and lets out a deep sigh. At first I think it's contentment, but then I hear his heart beating clear through his chest and I feel it beating clear through him and against my head. And I smell the very slight tang of salt. Blair's crying? But when I finally move him back, his eyes are mostly dry, but his heart is still pounding. 

"What is it?" I ask softly, holding a hand on each of his biceps. I rub my thumbs against the warm skin, enjoying the feel of the flesh, even if it is through the material of his shirt. I sniff lightly because where my thumbs have rubbed, Blair's body releases a touch of his special fragrance that tantalizes my body and tickles my soul. I feel myself growing warm, so I abruptly rise, almost dumping my lapful of Sandburg onto the floor. "Sorry," I mutter, clasping my hands together and turning away. "Think I'll head up, Chief. Long day." 

I barely take two steps toward the stairs when strong fingers latch onto my arm and spin me around. 

"No." 

"No? And why not?" I immediately do the Ellison body bristle and lift my chin. 

"We need to talk." 

"About...?" 

"Us. You and me. I'm tired of waiting." 

"For...?" Oh shit, I walked right into that. I should never have given him the opening. I am so fucked. 

"For you." 

"Me?" 

With an exasperated sigh, he nods. "I want you to fuck me." 

"What?" I gasp, stepping back. "Are you nuts?" 

"No." His eyes are drilled on my face, and he holds me by his invisible strength. I feel myself being -- yanked forward even though he hasn't moved, hasn't touched me. I feel my feet move, but I put out my hands to stop myself. Blair's eyes narrow and he asks, "Why don't you want me?" 

"What?" I ask again. Good going, Ellison. Speechless as usual. 

Please, Blair, please. Do you know what you're doing to me? Do you know how much this hurts? I promised! Naomi and I had that heart-to-heart. She explained everything to me! I agree with her! You're some -- rare creature who should be left free to flit and fly. To spread your wings. To share yourself with the world. I have no right to cage you. To keep you for myself. Naomi said you would hate it. She told me how much you valued your freedom. She told me secrets, Chief, your secrets! How much you want to always be free to come and go at your leisure. How you never want to pledge yourself to any one person. How you want to live a life like your mother -- carefree, unencumbered, uninhibited. And I swore to her that I would never trap you, never keep you for my own. I swore... 

"She said what?" Blair shouted. "Oh my God! Of all the stupid, mean, stupid, ridiculous, stupid things my mother has done, this one takes the cake! And you believed her?" 

I nod stupidly. (Lots of stupid going around, it seems.) "But she said you said..." 

Blair runs a hand through his hair, making the strands again crackle with static. It floats around his head like a halo. My angel... "I don't give a fuck what she said!" Blair stalks toward me and pokes me in the chest -- hard. "When was this?" he demands. 

"Six months ago," I answer immediately, contritely, hanging my head. 

"The night I graduated?" Again that tone -- I have no will to refuse. He is my Guide, and I hear and obey. 

"Yes," I whisper, embarrassed. 

"You are an asshole." 

"Okay." 

"So we've wasted these past six months when we could have been screwing each other's eyeballs out?" 

I shrug. "She said you said..." 

"Oh, shut up." Then his hands latch onto my head and yank me down, his lips fusing with mine. I know I look stupid (yet again, I might add) with my hands fluttering in the air like an oversized albatross, but I don't care. I open my mouth and let Blair take whatever he wants. It's not until I'm on my knees and he's brought me to the brink of a major zone that he lets me go. I'm heaving for breath while his hands hold me upright by the front of my shirt. "You are a stupid fuck." I don't have any breath left to answer, so I just nod. His hands move to my upper arms, where he clamps on and shakes me. "Do you know what Naomi said to me that night? That you were a cop first, and a straight, make that extra-straight man second. That you'd never admit to loving me -- dork of the year, even if you were wired that way! That I wasn't cut out for police work, and I was more suited to hoeing corn on a fucking commune in Idaho!" Blair shakes me again and continues his diatribe. "Do you know what I said to Naomi that night?" I shake my head, my hands finally finding purchase on his belt so I wouldn't fall over and look even more stupid (if that were possible). "I told her that I was in love with you, and that I was spending the rest of my life right here with you, and that nothing would ever separate us, and that if she didn't like it, she could take a hike. And I told her that if, in six months' time, you hadn't made your move, I would. So there." He looks damned pleased with himself when he finishes. 

Now it's my turn to be shocked. I raise my head and know I look as stupid (snicker) as I feel when I say, "What?" 

"You're mine, Ellison. Get used to it." 

"What?" 

"Oh, good heavens." Blair tugs me until I'm on my feet. He tugs me up the stairs where he then tugs off all of my clothes. Soon we're both naked and tangled on the bed where we proceed to fuck the life out of each other the entire fucking night. 

It went something like this for the next fourteen hours: Blair makes me come. I fall asleep. I wake up. I make Blair come. Blair falls asleep. We both wake up, and we both make each other come. We both collapse into unconsciousness until I wake. I fuck Blair senseless until he screams and passes out. I fall asleep. I wake up with Blair buried in me, and he does his thing until I'm screaming and passing out. We both fall asleep, then wake up... Until the phone rings... 

You are so fucking beautiful. Your hair is a ratted mess. Is that come in your hair? Your dick is shriveled and looks like it's gone into hiding -- for now. Wonder why? You look like heaven, well-fucked. Your body is bruised in places where my hands held on. Your nipples are red and tender where I sucked and bit them while you screamed. And are those my teeth marks on your ass? Hot damn, but that tasted good -- and it was wonderful. Every damned second. I lay on my side with my head propped in my hand while you talk to -- whoever. Who the fuck cares? When you hang up, I'm definitely fucking you again. And again... Have I told you how free I feel? Now that I'm free to hold you, and kiss you, and do whatever my heart desires... To do whatever dirty things you want, or need, or like? 

"...sir. Thank you, sir. Yes, sir. I'll tell him, Captain. Thank you, sir." Blair hangs up. The second he does, I grab him and pull him onto the mattress, flat on his back. I cover his body with mine and fuse our lips together. I tongue-fuck his mouth until his hands are scrabbling on my back and his nails rake my skin. "Fuck," I hiss, rubbing our erections together. 

Blair's mouth falls open and he cries out, releasing his seed between us. I buck against him two more times before I follow. What the orgasm lacks in fluid, it more than makes up for in enthusiasm. 

"That was..." 

I cover Blair's mouth with mine, not caring who was on the phone. We kiss for a long minute before he pushes against my shoulders. I reluctantly break the kiss. 

"What?" I growl, biting his ear lobe. 

"That was Simon!" His voice squeaks on the last word when my teeth bite down. 

"So?" 

Blair's mouth finds my nose and he chews on the end for a second before he says, "He got a call... Well, actually three calls..." 

"So?" I repeat, squeaking myself when Blair's fingers slip themselves into the cleft of my ass. 

"The neighbors called in on us." 

I raise my head to look into Blair's sparkling blue eyes. "Oops." 

Blair nods. "Seems we -- disturbed the peace last night. More than once." 

"Double oops. Or was that triple oops?" His fingers breach my body, and I forget about the phone call for a long, long while. 

\------------------------------------

You are so fucking beautiful. I love everything about you. Well, almost everything. There's still that thing you have about leaving the bathroom a mess -- oh, and picking up after yourself -- and wearing my shirts to sleep in -- and eating off my plate -- and snoring. Otherwise, you're adorable, especially when you come. And have I told you how cute you looked confronting Simon when he came down on our asses for breaking the rules? How you stood up (on your toes, I might note) and you poked that irritating finger into Simon's chest and told him in no uncertain terms that you and I are professionals. That we're Sentinel and Guide, bonded (bonded? I like that!) for life. That we come as a package deal, and whither thou goest... And that jazz. When he hemmed and hawed, that you firmly (but politely. I was impressed.) let him know that we are a team (his best team, as you so kindly reminded our esteemed leader), and we will continue to do the best we can humanly do in the execution and exercise of our employment. Have I told you I love you more than I can imagine? That I can't breathe without you. That even if we never touch each other again, that your love is a precious gift and I am forever pledged to you. God, that was pure unadulterated mush. Hey, these are my thoughts, remember? If you don't like it...

"What's that, Chief?" I call up the stairs. I listen as you whisper your request. I shake and shudder at your words. I lick my suddenly dry lips and I walk into the kitchen to retrieve the requested items. I walk to the stairs and as I climb, I call, "Coming, Blair." In more ways than one. Thankfully. 

The End


End file.
